Cairo to Beirut

Beirut
February 28, 22011



It has been raining for the last three days now. Traveling here happened so fast that I had not had a chance to write. One day we are in Luxor, the next in Aswan, and the next back in Luxor to catch a flight back to Cairo. After just 14 short hours in Cairo, I am in a taxi on my way to the airport to come to Beirut.


A warm welcome from my friend Ghas who has fetched me from the airport the last three times I have arrived here, and a short visit to bring birthday cake to his daughter, I meet up with my friend Rawya whose home I will be staying at while I am here.


The first day is sunny and blue skies with scattered white clouds. I take a beautiful afternoon walk across town to my favorite hangout to meet a friend. Sitting at the bar, I hear a familiar voice behind me (it is a very small place). I turn around and catch the eyes of a blonde woman. After staring at each other for a minute or so:


"What are you doing here?" "What are YOU doing here?!"


It is Arwa, a CNN news correspondent that I had met just a week prior in Cairo. Turns out all the foreign correspondents in the region are taking their R-and-R in Beirut these days. Now that’s a fun twist of circumstances.


That was the 24th. The next day it started raining and it has not stopped except for brief periods. I took a walk around Hamra the other night to visit some friends who were working in various pubs in the neighborhood, and had the pleasure of bumping into two very dear friends whom I have not seen in years. I thought they were in Canada. It is a small world after all, especially in Beirut.


There are a few changes here; about a dozen new pubs and bars, major construction of apartments and other buildings all over town, people actually following traffic signals, but for the most part, it is still that familiar Beirut. I have become so accustomed to it now, that it doesn't even feel that much like a foreign country to me, except for the language barrier of course.


I look around as I walk through town and think to take pictures, but then realize I have taken all those pictures before. I think to describe what the city is like when it rains, but I have written about this in a previous Blog years ago. So, I sit with Rawya and her family watching the news in Arabic and bad American sitcoms waiting for the rain to stop.


We were supposed to join a protest that happened here yesterday against the sectarianism that is meshed into the political system. President has to be Maronite; Prime Minister, Sunni; speaker of parliament, Shia, and so on. I am sure that there was a certain logic to it when they set it up that way, but it has complicated things a bit and there is a certain segment of the society that would like it to change, have people elected on their Merit, rather than their religious lines. It is really way to complicated to explain in the short run, especially if one is not so familiar with it to start.


Beirut is its same beautiful self. Some things are very easy to sort out, like getting my earring soldered back together the first day by a jeweler friend; and others are not, like solving the complicated political problems. But life goes on.


It feels so calm here compared to Egypt, which really reminded me of the chaotic New Delhi streets; dirt, people, traffic, shouting, noise, over population…I was really starting to get worn out from it. Who knew one would come to decompress in Beirut of all places. Though it is a much different city since its Civil War days, the stigma from that time has never seemed to reverse itself in the minds of many in the West.


Downtown is thriving again, where just in the spring of 2008 saw the end of the 2-years-long tent city protest of the opposition movement. Pubs, bars, and restaurants are popping up like a chain of mushrooms nearly over night, and they all seem to get business. There are a lot more foreigners here these days, like it was in the summer before the start of the 2006 war.


I went with a bunch of friends Friday night at 3:30 am to catch Nick Warren who was DJing a party in BO18, a club here. We missed his set, but the place was packed like sardines as usual even though tickets were $70 a pop. I didn't pay of course; even in Beirut, I have my ways of getting in for free. I didn't get home till 6:30 am. I think it took me till this morning to fully recover. My body just can't do it like I did when I was 20, dancing for 8 hours non-stop and doing it again the next night. Thank-God those days are over.


I am going to my old place of work today to meet with my old supervisor and check on the progress of the programs we worked on together. It is nice to see some of my efforts being put to use after all these years. (www.dhiafeeprogram.org many of the photos and descriptions are mine, but labeled 'ANERA Staff').


I am waiting for Rob to come from Cairo, as he has got some things he is working on there, and I was eager to come here. That won't be for at least another two weeks or so it seems. Until then, I have to figure out things to keep me busy, lest I end up in the house all day.


The rain has let up now, hopefully the sun will even come out today for a little while. Maybe I will take another stroll across town and get my boots fixed. You never know who I might run into this time. There are plenty of friends who I have yet to see. Every time I manage to get out of the house, it turns into an adventure.


Just what I live for.


In case you are interested in that earlier piece I wrote about rain in Beirut, or my writing from before, its in my old Blog on myspace: www.myspace.com/sathari

Luxor, Valley of the Kings

Thursday, February 17, 2011

A few lazy days in the apartment in Cairo after the excitement of the revolution was coming to an end and life in the city was returning to normal. The streets noisy and filled with traffic, honking, and exhaust. It was definitely time to move on with this adventure.

Some time at the beach in the Sinai sounded just right. 2:30 pm: Our bags packed, we head out into the afternoon din to make our way to the airport to catch our 5:00 pm flight. Taxi to the Metro, Metro to a station closer to the airport, taxi from that station to the airport. 4:30 pm: Gate is closed. We miss our flight.

Having no desire to venture back into the city, we look at the other possible flights. No more are going to the Sinai for the rest of the day, but we see that there is a flight to Luxor at 7:00 pm. Why the hell not?

Change the tickets, coffee in the airport for an hour, and we are off. One hour later, we are in Luxor next to the Valley of the Kings. We arranged a hotel and had a driver collect us from the airport.

"Welcome!" Along the way to the hotel, we learn that we are his first tourists since the start of the protests. "Fifty percent of the economy here in Luxor is tourism. Most people are happy about the change, but they need life to return to normal so that people will start to visit again."

"If you have not been working these last twenty days, what have you been doing with your time?"

"Hanging out with my friends everyday, playing dominos and smoking. Normally we don't smoke because we are working, only on special occasion, but we have nothing to do, so we smoke."

It was not exactly the answer I was expecting. I thought for sure at first he meant smoking sheesha, but he added, "Well, yes, but also other things…"

The Nile is beautiful at night. The lights along the banks reflected perfectly in the calm waters. We overtake lorries, donkey carts, scooters, and other vehicles. No one uses their headlights. A mystery I have not been able to find an answer for. We cross the river to the side that is more local, less lights, smaller buildings, quiet.

The salon of the Senmut Bread and Breakfast is full of family members of the proprietor. Hanin, about 5 years old and the eldest of the 3 daughters, smiles hugely and cocks her head from side to side looking at me inquisitively in that 5-year-old kind of way.

We are the only guests. They bring us tea and water, later we take a simple meal on the roof terrace overlooking the Nile, the lights and sounds of the East bank in a distant universe across the river. Senmut, the lover of queen Hatshepsut, built a temple in her honor to proclaim his love for her. Now this little temple bears his name…

…

The sun is hot in Upper Egypt. There are no tourists left here in Luxor. Our new friends have been forced to take a one-month vacation, so they build "illegally" on their own land. The government wanted to usurp their lands to sell to foreign investors and would not let them build. Here they are having a revolution of defiance. Everyone is building. Brick by brick, floor by floor, since the last two weeks.

It is a different revolution here in Luxor. They had only 2 days of protest. But the economy is suffering. Tourism makes up almost 90 percent of the economy here. We are the first tourists since people evacuated.

This is the final resting place of the Pharaohs. The Valley of the Kings. Home to amazing temples built to Ra, Queen Hatshepsut, and Hathor among others.

Yesterday I was gazing at the mummy of king Tut Ankh Aman. I sat beneath the lid of the sarcophagus of king Merenptah (the guide let us because there was no one else there. We stood in perfect silence. I could not get over the feeling that this must be what it is like in the afterlife…silence, ceiling covered in heirogliphic stars painted azure blue, with the goddess Nut to watch over your journey. Silently touching the relief of the body of a goddess carved carefully into granite, so heavy that it took 2000 years for someone to disturb you. Now, in normal days, the lines to visit are so thick, it is unbearable. Today, during a revolution to bring about a new Egypt, there is no one; we sit in the king's grave, absorbing the five pointed stars, Nut, Isis, Anubis.

Queen Hatshepsut's temple. Built into the mountain. A small temple dedicated to Hathor, my favorite, Goddess of birth and renewal, love, and music. She happened upon me suddenly. I have been in love with Hathor for many years but I did not understand the guide when he was explaining where we were going. All of a sudden, I am standing in the middle of pillars adorned with the pleasant face of Hathor. Carvings of her Mother Cow form on reliefs of the walls behind, the sun reaching its evening peak, silently she is calming the heart.

I am so tired. I did not sleep at all the night of our arrival. Now back at the hotel, I lay prone. There is a part of my back that is vibrating: as if the scarab that was inked there long ago has been awakened, pushing the sun towards the new dawn.

Day by day, this life is formulated. So many unknowns. There is no way to predict the future. One day I am meant to travel to Sinai, but here I am in Luxor. The Pharaohs are calling.

One day there is a dictator, 18 days later, there is no government, and others around the region are finding their voice. It may not overthrow all rulers, but it will produce change, and that is something that is a true sign of the times.

I think my mother's text to me last night puts it best:

"Solar flares & full moon & revolution. Fun love you."

Tahrir Square the day after Mubarak

Walking to Tahrir square the day after the resignation of Hosni Mubarak, the energy was alive, invigorating, only getting more visceral as we moved deeper into the square...








Children are lifted onto tanks to pose for photographs




Many people carry brooms and dustpans, volunteering to clean the streets




There is a crowd silently taking pictures of the burnt NDP headquarters


Ibrahim and Mahmoud follow us for a time, posing for the camera


Mahmoud



The crowd starts to thicken




Volunteers make a human chain to protect the freshly painted curbs






Little children sit atop their father's shoulders carrying baby flags





The youth dance toward the crowd




"Sorry for the disturbance, we build Egypt"




The water bearer




Osama and the creepy short middle-aged man


Ibrahim



I never got her name

Revolution Hangover

February 14, 2011

Valentines day

February 12, 2011: Egypt's voice is heard.

So much has happened here. The energy of the place is so amazing and intense; I have to read my own blogs to remember what I was doing.

It has been ten days since my arrival. It feels like months since I was in the states. The day after Mubarak's resignation, Ernesto and I took a long walk to downtown to see what was going on in the square.

We cross from Zamalek, the island where we are staying, to the East bank of the Nile and make our way South along the river towards the celebrations. There are many people out. Smiling, carrying brooms and dust pans sweeping up the dust and debris left from the 18 days of protests. Little children with little flags atop their father's shoulders. Parents lifting their kids up onto the tanks where they wave flags and pose for the camera.

We continue towards the square and the sounds get louder, the crowd thickens. Two little boys, Ibrahim and Mahmoud, follow us from the burnt NDP headquarters and continue to ask me to take their picture.

Volunteers are busy repainting the black and white stripes on the curbsides and make a human chain around the medians while the paint dries. Ibrahim and Mahmoud have disappeared into the crowd now.

Posters are hung in a string displaying portraits of those martyrs who died for their cause. Speeches are made. Chants are sung. Poetry and Arabic hip-hop rhymes are pushed through the speakers. There are at least 4 different stages that we pass with various activities. One starts blasting music, the stage full of youth dancing like crazy towards the crowd. I take a short video just pushing my way through the throngs with my camera above my head. Half of the video catches only sky and buildings, but the music is the sound of people in jubilation.

I am in search of water. All along this way, various people have stopped us and asked to have their picture taken with us. They take turns swapping cell phones and posing with us. A few times, I hand over my camera as well. I wish I had taken down their names, but then again, they never asked for ours either. One kid stops and starts talking with Ernesto who, being the journalist that he is, starts taking notes. Meanwhile I am left with Osama, and Ibrahim (yes, another one). Osama seems quite smitten. I can’t get most of what he is saying to me. The Egyptian dialect still makes me very confused. I somehow gather that he wants to have coffee later, or hang out or something. "No, sorry." He still lingers around with his friend, constantly snapping pics with the cell phone. Some strange little middle-aged man shows up and starts taking pictures of me with his own phone. Creepy. I put up with it for a while, then finally, "KHALAS!" (Enough!), I push his hand down and move him on his way.

We keep moving. I find a young boy selling water. He has the sweetest face and smile, his clothes have not been washed in ages, his feet are covered in dirt from the streets, and he wears girl's flip-flops with plastic flowers on the straps. He is beaming. I ask for two waters, hand him a 5 and let him keep the change. When he sees my camera, he jesters for me to take his photo, and stands proudly bearing his water bottles. Snap. He comes over to inspect the results. Smiles hugely and gives it a thumbs up.

Amid all these people, elated, volunteering, enjoying, there are these small kids, out trying to capitalize on the crowd as best they can. One little girl, not more than 6 years old, has the same appearance of my water bearer, curly dirty locks, little dress, dust covered skin, desperately trying to sell packets of tissue. People pat her on the head, but aren’t buying. I have no small change.

So many times walking in these streets, I see children like this. I can’t overcome the feeling of being helpless to lift them out of this life they are living. My heart breaks when I think of them. It makes me wonder if this movement will actually change the society and not just the regime. I have mentioned this before, but the point keeps coming back.

A man who was visiting with my friend Ahmed last night, told me that the EU gave money, $2 million, to help with the poorest people on the streets and that it all was pocketed. I don't know how much legitimacy any of these rumors have, but there are plenty of them.

Ernesto has an interview at 6:00 pm. We have had our fill of the square (which is more like a circle) and find that wonderful little hobbit Eden, the Felfela. A man comes in with a leather jacket and closely shaved head. He is our age. Mr. Sharkawi. His father has been in prison for more than 14 years without trial or cause. He is excited and sad at the same time.

"You know, before ten days, I would have told you that this was impossible in Egypt. Every one was scared of the secret police. The same ones who keep my father. They took me and kept me for 20 days, blind-folded the whole time. They beat me and electrocuted me, and interrogated me, just for passing letters from my father to the proper authorities and human rights groups about his treatment and his unlawful imprisonment. I am happy for the first time, there is a chance that I might be able to get him free now. But I don’t even know where to start. Who do I go to? Maybe the military? I don't know. I do know that if you don’t respect your self, no one will respect you. Mubarak and this regime, they didn't respect their own people, so no one in the world respected us. Now we stood up finally, and people in the world, now they respect us."

It is truly amazing what has happened here, "but now what?" is the question on every ones minds.

…

The atmosphere was different this morning. I didn't leave the house the entire day yesterday, not even a foot outside the front door. I watched the street go by from the balcony. But there is a tangible feeling in the air. Ernesto calls it the revolution hangover. I think it is a perfect term. This could go so many different directions and each expert has their opinion. They love to compare it to other revolutions, or other countries. They dig through the last 100 years of Egyptian's 3000-year history to try to find the answer.

The truth is, there is no way to predict this future. But what ever it is, those who sat in Tahrir square, who continue to do so in some cases, those who have relatives still in prison who are innocent and have never been charged, those who are still hungry on the streets, will not let this movement die as long as their grievances are not heard and their demands not met. Now that they have seen what they are capable of, they will not stop until this revolution has seen its promise.

Pyramid Photos